


redamancy

by witching



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Begging, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Teasing, Tender Sex, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: redamancy (noun): a love returned in full; the act of loving one who loves you"theniceand accurate 69th fic" - hallie
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 174





	redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> it's my 69th work posted on ao3 and it's my birthday let's pop some bottles!  
> i couldn't swing this fic far enough in the crack direction or the sincere direction to excuse the bizarre tonal inconsistency, but literally who cares. what's more important: "good" writing? or the phrase "drowning in angel pussy"? that's what i thought.

_if music be the food of love, play on,_  
_give me excess of it; that surfeiting,_  
_the appetite may sicken, and so die._  
_― w illiam shakespeare, twelfth night_

_allegiance, after all, has to work two ways; and one can grow weary of an allegiance which is not reciprocal._  
_― j ames baldwin, nobody knows my name_

_to take to give is all, return what is hungrily given  
puffing the pounds of manna up through the dew to heaven,  
the lovely gift of the gab bangs back on a blind shaft.  
― dylan thomas, on no work of words  
_

_"or if I swim in the sea, does the sea swim in me?"  
"does it not?"  
"please, you do know the difference, don't you?"  
"of course. what does it matter?”  
― joan slonczewski, a door into ocean_

* * *

“Angel,” Crowley gasps as he writhes under the ministrations of deft, gorgeous hands,  _ "please." _

Aziraphale beams down at him, round cheeks glowing and dewy, a horribly, deceptively innocent expression. His fingers play delicately along the long lines of the demon’s ribs, grazing over his skin and making him shiver. “Don’t you worry, darling, I’ll take care of you.”

Crowley throws his head back with a groan. “Aziraphale, I need to taste you, I  _ need  _ it, you promised.”

“You’re quite desperate this evening, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, mhm,” Crowley agrees without hesitation. “I’ll do anything, angel, you know I will.”

Chuckling under his breath, the angel dips low to mouth along Crowley’s neck. “Yes, love, I know,” he murmurs, lips brushing skin, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

Crowley whines, twists his torso to arch into the touch. “What are you planning to do to me?”

“I figured I would start with this,” Aziraphale replies breezily before moving to take the demon’s nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it and feeling it harden. Crowley whimpers, and it’s such a delicious sound, Aziraphale can’t resist pausing for a moment to suck hard, drawing out a series of high, breathless noises from the depths of the demon’s chest. “Such a sweet thing,” he whispers as he pulls back, his breath ghosting across Crowley’s wet skin, “aren’t you? So good for me.”

A noise claws its way up and out of Crowley’s throat, but it can’t properly be called a moan or a groan or any other word that people generally use to describe sounds. Aziraphale simply smiles again, leans in to kiss him deeply and swallow up any other sounds he might make. At the same time, he slips a hand down between their torsos, rubbing Crowley’s hip affectionately before moving to dip two fingers between his slick folds.

Crowley stops breathing for a moment, and then Aziraphale’s perfect, beautiful, magnificent fingers slide inside him, and he keens against the angel’s lips. He’s just grateful that Aziraphale started with two; it bodes well for his hopes of getting on with this. Of course, that’s hardly a coherent thought in his mind as Aziraphale rubs his clit with his thumb, crooks his fingers and begins to pump them in and out of Crowley’s hot cunt.

“You really are so  _ wonderfully  _ well behaved,” the angel informs him, casual as anything. “Look at you – you hardly even need direction, you’re so eager to please.”

Clenching his hands into tight fists, Crowley clings to the vestiges of his self-control as he preens under the angel’s approving gaze. He  _ is  _ showing remarkable levels of restraint, keeping his hands to himself because he knows that’s what Aziraphale wants, and he appreciates the recognition. Or –  _ appreciates  _ doesn’t quite capture it. He revels in it, feels himself grow wetter as Aziraphale works him open and pets his hip with his free hand and murmurs sweet little morsels of praise.

Eventually, Aziraphale decides he’s had enough building of suspense, fucks three fingers deep and hard into Crowley’s cunt and hovers over him, watching with bright eyes for the moment when he tumbles over the edge. Crowley cries out, high and breathless, and bows his back up off the bed as he comes, his hands twisted tightly in the sheets.

As Crowley comes down from his first orgasm, Aziraphale continues to just look at him, drinking in the sight of him all flushed and mussed and heavy breathing. After a long moment, Crowley squirms uncomfortably under the attention, whining in the back of his throat.

“Angel,” he says, hoarse and needy.

“Go on, my dear,” the angel encourages him softly. “Tell me what you want, I’m listening.”

Not wanting to undermine his good behavior thus far, Crowley refrains from rolling his eyes. “I want to make you come,” he answers in a fervent growl of a voice. “I want to get my mouth on you and my tongue in you and – fuck, angel, I want you  _ on  _ me. Come here, please, _ please.” _

Shuffling up onto his knees, Aziraphale looks down at him with a dubious look in his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Am I fucking  _ sure  _ – yes, Aziraphale, I’m one thousand percent certain.”

“Now, that’s not a very pleasant way to ask for what you want.”

Crowley can’t help a small groan of frustration when he’s so close, so  _ bloody  _ close to it and Aziraphale continues to be a smug bastard about it. “Angel, please, please, I’m  _ begging  _ you to let me eat you out. I’m going insane, really and truly. I’m suffering here, and the only salve to my anguish is a beautiful angel sitting on my face.”

Aziraphale tuts gently, fond and amused, running a hand down the center of Crowley’s chest as he speaks. “Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”

“You can lay on me as thick as you want,” Crowley mutters without thinking.

“That doesn’t make any sense, darling.”

“Well, I  _ told  _ you, you’re driving me nuts. I can’t be held accountable for coherent sentences.”

Sighing, the angel leans in close and presses a quick, warm kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “Think you can go again?”

“Do you hate me, Aziraphale?” Crowley lifts his head to level the angel with a withering glare. “Is that it? You hate me and you want to torture me and cause me pain?”

“I hardly think offering to bring you off for the second time constitutes  _ torture,” _ Aziraphale replies evenly. 

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale. I  _ know  _ torture.”

“Alright. It was only a suggestion.”

“Are you  _ suggesting  _ I languish in despair forever while you make me come over and over,” accuses the demon, high-pitched and distressed, “so you can sit there and laugh at me and never, ever, ever let me return the favor?”

Finally, unable to resist any further, Aziraphale closes the space between them fully, pressing his chest close against Crowley’s, and kisses him slow and deep, stopping his complaints. When he pulls back, the demon’s lips are swollen and spit-slick, and suddenly Aziraphale realizes he rather would like to have those lips wrapped around his own clit, and soon.

He pushes himself up to his knees again, shuffles up toward the head of the bed. “What I am suggesting, dearest, is…” he pauses, indicates Crowley’s head with one hand, “if I’m seated here, then it should be fairly easy,” he gestures vaguely in the direction of Crowley’s pelvis with his other hand, “to reach over here.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide, his lips parted, and he takes a long moment to process the idea and respond. “What, you mean at – at the same time?”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale nods simply, “if you want.”

“Yes, I want, angel,” answers the demon in a breathy rush. “I want, I want. You know me, big fan of reciprocity. Mutuality. Sssymmetry.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale muses. “So you’d prefer to be on your side, then? For equality’s sake?”

Crowley exhales sharply through his nose, shooting the angel a look of desperation and frustration. “For  _ something’s  _ sake, if you don’t get on top of me, I’ll melt. I will actually melt into a liquid, and you’ll be stuck cleaning me up.”

Aziraphale chuckles, though he moves to comply. “Isn’t that what I’ll end up doing either way?”

He doesn’t need to see Crowley’s face to recognize the bashful tone of his voice when he mumbles, “I mean, you don’t have to…”

“You know I will,” the angel assures him, “gladly. Are you ready?”

“Angel, I’m going to burst out of my skin.”

“Vivid imagery. It’s a nice touch.” 

The casual, conversational tone of the angel’s voice is entirely out of place with the way he moves to straddle Crowley’s chest, his back to the demon’s face, knees bracketing thin shoulders. Crowley immediately establishes a grip on the angel’s thighs, but he knows better than to pull. Aziraphale perches above him, and Crowley can smell the heady scent of his arousal, can see the slick shining on his lips, but he can’t  _ touch. _ He can’t  _ taste. _ And he can’t be impatient, or Aziraphale will make him wait even longer.

He strokes his fingers lightly down the outsides of the angel’s thighs, humming pleasantly, as if this is the most relaxed position he could imagine. “Hey, angel,” he murmurs, velvet-soft, “I’m just crazy for you, you know that?”

Bracing his hand on the bed beside Crowley’s hip, Aziraphale leans forward. “I do know, my dear,” he answers, “and likewise.”

Crowley offers a small hum of acknowledgement, and then Aziraphale finally, blessedly shifts to allow him the access and range of movement to get his mouth on the angel’s cunt. He waits, still, for one eternal moment, before the angel dips his head low to mouth at the crease of the demon’s hip. Nosing through the thatch of black hair between Crowley’s legs, Aziraphale pauses again, utters a single word that Crowley more feels than hears: “Alright.”

That’s the permission he’s been waiting for. He breathes a fervent sigh of relief, presses his fingers just a bit harder into the soft flesh of the angel’s thighs, and cranes his neck slightly to bury his face in the wet folds of him. He knows the moves, though he’s never done it upside down before, so it’s a bit of a learning curve, but he catches on quick. A swirl of his clever tongue around Aziraphale’s swollen clit makes the angel grind down against him, a grunt of pleasure escaping him and sending jolts of sensation through Crowley’s body from his cunt up to his neck.

Aziraphale isn’t holding back either. He sucks sweetly at the demon’s cunt lips, grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin and then biting down, hard enough to draw a muffled cry from Crowley and make him buck his hips up into the air, almost unbalancing the angel. Aziraphale responds by placing a sturdy hand on the demon’s hip, holding him in place and doubling down on his efforts.

It’s difficult to focus on too much of anything without his senses tearing him away and onto a different thing, so Crowley stops trying, gives himself up to it and lets his tongue work on muscle memory as he loses himself in the feel of Aziraphale’s mouth on him. Again, it’s a bit odd upside-down, but it’s a good odd, like brushing your hair with a new brush, or like when Crowley manipulates his snake bones to be able to scratch that spot on his back that his human arms can’t reach. Alien, but thoroughly satisfying.

There’s something oddly heartwarming to Crowley about the fact that he’s so used to this, so comfortable with the way his angel moves and what buttons he presses and how to press right back. They fit together perfectly, every time – even when it’s not perfect, it’s perfect for them. Aziraphale’s hand on his hip is perfect, fingertips digging into the lean muscle of Crowley’s ass; Aziraphale’s tongue on his clit is perfect, sending electric shocks through every nerve ending in his body; Aziraphale’s cunt is beyond perfect, slick and dark and delicious. 

Crowley could drown in it. Not just in the sense of drowning in angel pussy, nothing quite so vulgar as that, but in the torrent of sensation and emotion and the overwhelming sense of belonging that he feels overtake him as he works up to his second orgasm. 

When he gets close, he realizes he still hasn’t managed to make Aziraphale come, and that just will not do. He sucks hard at the angel’s clit, nosing up against his slick hole, and moves on hand from Aziraphale’s thigh to tease at his folds before thrusting a finger inside him. 

Aziraphale arches his back and pushes back against Crowley’s finger, encouraging him to slide it in and out, to fuck the angel on his fingers. Crowley is only too happy to oblige. Within two minutes, he’s got Aziraphale shaking apart on his fingers and his tongue, crying out and losing some of the decorum of his movements. Before he’s ridden out his own orgasm, the erratic movement of Aziraphale’s lips on Crowley’s cunt brings him over the edge as well.

To his credit, Aziraphale does not collapse right there and suffocate Crowley. He rolls over to the side, landing on his back and staring up at the ceiling for a long, quiet minute, his feet at Crowley’s head and vice versa.

“That was good,” he says eventually, sounding small in the room, absent as it now was of pleasured moans and whines. “That was very good, darling.”

“You can talk,” Crowley replies hoarsely. “Magic, you are. Bloody magic tongue.”

“Not magic, Crowley, just practice. And love.”

Crowley smiles, turning his head to catch a glimpse of the angel’s face. “Well, I loved that. So maybe we should practice it more often.”

“Right,” agrees the angel, “for the symmetry.”

“Yeah, exactly. Equality. Mutuality. Reciprocity.”

Silence rests upon them for another minute before Aziraphale brings it upon himself to shift positions, turning and scooting up the length of the bed to lie next to Crowley, wrapping an arm around him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You were very greedy, you know. All that begging is unbecoming.”

Turning his rapidly heating face into the angel’s chest, Crowley shakes his head. “You make me feel very strongly about these things. It’s only fair to tell you.”

“Right,” murmurs the angel. “I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley turns his head slightly to press a gentle kiss to the angel’s collarbone. “I love you, Aziraphale."


End file.
